Midnight Tempest
by St. Harridan
Summary: Kenpachi contemplates his sleeping lover and gets annoyed at how the other man seems to always know what's on his mind.


**Title:** Midnight Tempest

**Author:** St. Harridan

**Rating:** T

**Fandom:** Bleach

**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Zaraki Kenpachi x Ukitake Jushiro

**Theme:** 170 – Sleeping storm

**Genres:** Hurt/Comfort, Romance

**Warnings:** Kenpachi-style swearing.

**Words:** 1636

**Summary:** Kenpachi contemplates his sleeping lover and gets annoyed at how the other man seems to always know what's on his mind.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Bleach.

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Moonlight shone through the translucent curtains, casting shadows upon the wooden floor. The cool breeze caught the drapes, teasing them into a light dance as their silhouettes swayed in tune to the zephyr's sensual rhythm.

Zaraki Kenpachi lay in bed with the quilts covering up to half of his bare torso, exposing a lean, hard frame born from years of suffering and hardships. The scars littering his body were solid proof of what he had been through, before and during his reign as captain of the Eleventh Division. He was no tenderfoot at being slashed and sliced. Hell, he even got a hole or two in his stomach once, and that didn't kill him. It excited him, that's what it did.

One look at his closed eyes would make someone come to the conclusion that he was asleep, but in actual fact he wasn't even on the way to dreamland. He was as wide awake as one could be, listening intently to his own breathing – or rather, straining to hear the breathing of the one beside him.

Kenpachi's breathing was deep and raspy, inhaling with a soft hiss and exhaling with a low rumble that reverberated in his chest. It drowned out the other's completely, and he hated it. To him, it felt like he was the only one who could breathe, and that led to the thought that said he was the only shinigami there. That he was alone.

Kenpachi was used to being alone. After Yachiru's death, he had stalked the streets of the 80th District by himself, fighting and killing off single-handedly anyone who dared step in his way. When she died, he had plunged deep into the pit of despair, _the _hellhole, and stayed there for a long, long time. That pit had monsters, demons, who chewed and ripped at his insides, tearing them apart and hurtling them to the ground for all to see. But his emotions were carefully hidden behind a cold, heartless, bloodthirsty demeanour, and from there the Demon of Zaraki was born in the rain, out of the ashes of a burned hut.

Just when he thought that he had no more heart, no more emotions, nothing but a void of insatiable bloodlust, a little pink-haired girl appeared. From a bloody massacre at a burning brothel she came to him, well, alive and in one piece unlike the decapitated bodies scattered around them. He named her 'Yachiru', in memory of the one person, the one woman he ever loved and looked up to.

But Yachiru wasn't with him now. She was back in the confines of the Eleventh Division barracks, curled up in a tiny ball on a bed too big just for someone of her size, with no clue as to the actual whereabouts of her beloved Ken-chan.

Meeting Yachiru was a blessing, but that didn't bring back Kenpachi's ability to love someone like how he loved the first Yachiru.

Until that white-haired son of a bitch stepped into his godforsaken life.

Kenpachi let out a long, drawn out sigh which turned into an annoyed groan at the end. Realizing that it was probably a little too loud, he held his breath and counted the seconds that fleeted by. Each second corresponded with the man's breathing, and Kenpachi found himself at the very least glad that he could still hear him. He exhaled slowly and turned his face to the window.

The soft glow of the full moon against a dark backdrop was stunningly beautiful. Kenpachi would have been transfixed by the sight hadn't his attention been stolen by the luminescence of his companion's flesh. Kenpachi couldn't ignore the exquisite view before him and, as quietly as he could without making much movement, he turned to lie on his side, cushioning his face in the inner crook of his elbow.

Though pale and slightly emaciated by illness, Jushiro was still a man whose splendour was second to none. His long, white mane was splayed across the pillow with a few locks tumbling down over his broad but slim shoulders. His chest rose and fell steadily with each breath he took and released, reminding Kenpachi that he was still there with him.

Many times he had to deal with particularly bad coughing where every second it hacked through Jushiro's body, gleefully wreaking havoc within that thin, fragile figure. Kenpachi hated those sudden attacks, and he cursed that captain of a woman for not getting off her lazy ass and trying to find a cure for the ailment.

Kenpachi turned to lie on his back. He stretched out his right arm in the air, sighing contentedly as he heard the cracks of joints, and folded it behind his head. Closing his eyes, he wondered what Yachiru was dreaming about. What the _both_ of them were dreaming about. He was about to hope that their dreams had a place for him when he felt a sudden but slight drop in the mattress.

Kenpachi's head twisted to the side, and he found himself staring into a pair of green eyes reminiscent of the sea. It took him a few moments to recover from the surprise – and pull himself out of his daze – before finding his voice.

"Ain't ye s'posed to be sleepin'?"

A faint smile formed on the other man's face. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Che." Kenpachi shut his eyes to avoid losing himself into Jushiro's. They were deeper than the unfathomable, and could easily swallow Kenpachi whole if he so much as stumbled.

"You've got squad training tomorrow, don't you? You need your-"

"I don't need ye to tell me that. Jus' shut up and go to sleep, damn it," Kenpachi growled without thinking, effectively silencing the other man, and turned to lie on his other side.

Jushiro gazed at the indentations of muscles in Kenpachi's back. He was more than familiar with the man to know that he was just pretending to be asleep. His fingers twitched slightly, tempted to caress his companion's back, to feel his rough, weathered skin below his fingertips, but he resisted. Kenpachi would probably not respond as much as Jushiro would hope.

An unexpected series of hacking coughs seized Jushiro's attention, disrupting the uncomfortable silence. Curling up in a ball akin to Yachiru's sleeping position, he clasped his hand over his mouth, feeling his throat tear up with each cough. Despite being a little too preoccupied, he felt large hands grabbing his upper arms and pushing him back against the sheets. He continued coughing, hard and dry, until finally the itch faded away. Fortunately, there wasn't any blood.

Jushiro slumped back against the pillow, letting out a sigh of relief. His arms were released from a rather painful grip, and he felt Kenpachi leaning over him. He opened his eyes and took in the sight of the man's muscular torso stretched above him. This time he couldn't resist a brief touch of his fingertips to the abdomen, eliciting a soft growl from his partner.

Kenpachi filled a glass of water from the tumbler on the bedside table and thrust it to Jushiro, who quietly drained the whole glass. Seeing the concerned look in Kenpachi's stormy grey eyes, he smiled reassuringly. With a light scoff, the larger man lay back down and threw the quilts over himself with a seemingly aloof gesture, but Jushiro knew better.

The two captains lay like that for quite a while, never uttering a word. Kenpachi's eyes were closed, but he was well aware of even the slightest movement in the darkness. Jushiro wasn't any lesser, but he was content to gaze at his partner's back, tracing the familiar contours of flesh and muscle with his eyes.

Feeling Jushiro's spiritual pressure slight and give way, signalling that he had been overcome by slumber, Kenpachi turned around to lie on his side – maybe for the fifth or sixth time that night – only to be met with the same shade of sea green.

"God damn it, why in the hell ain't ye 'sleep yet?"

The only response was an amused smile that drove Kenpachi out of his fuckin' mind, making him want to strangle the man but also at the same time wrap his arms around him and murder anyone that came near.

As if reading his thoughts, Jushiro reached out, placed his palm on Kenpachi's face. Zaraki was about to push it away when the other man pulled his head gently down. Puzzled, he decided to give in to his partner's wishes, and tucked his head in the crook of his neck. Jushiro buried his nose in Kenpachi's dark, rough tresses, entangling his fingers in them.

The beating of Jushiro's heart was loud in Kenpachi's ear, and so was his breathing. A sense of comfort warmed his insides, a feeling that used to be more than foreign to him since the death of Yachiru the first. But following the first meeting with Jushiro, he began to feel that warmth more and more until it became constant whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of the white-haired man. To be fuckin' honest, Kenpachi had no idea how he could have been swept away by Jushiro, the sickly pale man with a kind smile.

Feeling a hand smooth down his hair, Kenpachi looked up.

"Sleep." There was that god damn smile of his that Kenpachi wanted to rip off his face but then at the same time…

"Che." Burrowing his face against Jushiro's neck, Kenpachi snaked his arms around his waist, pulling Jushiro's smaller frame closer.

Jushiro let out a mild chuckle, leisurely running his fingers over his lover's hair. He waited until Kenpachi's spiritual pressure fell below the normally oppressive level and his breathing became steadier, less ragged, before letting his own eyelids drift to a close.

And when Jushiro dreamed, he dreamt of grey eyes and the very heart of the storm.

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**Man, it's been a while. My muse deserted me and I'm clearly out of practice. Hope this comes out okay!**


End file.
